


Rock Star

by sg_wonderland



Series: I Wanna Be A Rock Star [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_wonderland/pseuds/sg_wonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack O’Neill had lived out his entire life in the spotlight. All he wants now is to retire in peace and quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Star

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a Daniel-as-a-rock-star fic but recently I was blaring Nickelback from my car stereo and I thought, ‘Hmmm, Jack, rock star. Has a nice ring to it.’
> 
> I’m messing with, well, I guess you’d call if life-canon, by envisioning a world where Jack would not be ostracized for being sexually adventurous.
> 
> This is an AU Jack/Daniel.
> 
> Song Credits:
> 
> Bridge Over Troubled Waters – Paul Simon
> 
> Drift Off to Dream – Travis Tritt, Stewart Harris
> 
> Homeward Bound – Paul Simon
> 
> I Can Still Make Cheyenne – Ervine Woolsey, Aaron Gayle Barker
> 
> I’ll Have to Say I Love You in a Song – Jim Croce
> 
> Just Leave – Jack O’Neill
> 
> Let It Be – Paul McCartney
> 
> Simple Kind of Man – Ron Van Zant, Gary Rossington (Lynyrd Skynryd)
> 
> Theme Song to ‘Hill Street Blues’ – Mike Post
> 
>  

*

 

 

 

“What part of this conversation did you not understand?” Jack raked long fingers through his short, silver hair, as he paced the floor, phone tucked under his chin. “I’m retiring. Giving it up. Going home to draw my Social Security.” He smirked at his manager’s choked laughter. “I’m serious; the new house is practically finished. I’m gonna find out if there are any fish left in the pond.” And if there’s any life left out there, he thought silently.

 

Hank Landry chuckled again. “I thought that was my line?”

 

“Just because you could never catch any doesn’t mean they weren’t there. Maybe they were hiding.” Jack leaned against the bank of windows, looking at the Chicago lakeshore. “It’s time. It’s past time.” He confessed, “I’m tired, Hank.”

 

“Okay, Jack, okay. Are you at least going to finish the tour out?”

 

“Yeah, you know I don’t go back on my word. Six weeks, then it’s lights out for O’Neill. Hank…”

 

“I know, Jack. We’ve been through a helluva lot together.”

 

“As someone once remarked, that was a lot of hair ago.” They both laughed at the memory of Jack’s first manager George Hammond, dead a shockingly long fifteen years now. Jack realized he had to say what Hank hadn’t wanted to hear. “If it hadn’t been for you and Caroline, I’d have been dead a long time ago. I owe you.”

 

“Funny you should say that…”

 

“Aaah, Hank, what now?”

 

“I’m not going to argue about the retirement, you’ve earned it. But how about you reconsider the memoirs?”

 

“I can’t write for shit, Hank. You know that.”

 

“There are some folks on the Grammy committee who might argue that. But I’ve got someone in mind. He’s a brilliant writer.”

 

“Why would anyone want to read my memoirs?” Jack snagged a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “And why would anyone brilliant want to write them? What’s wrong with this guy?”

 

“I think a lot of folks would like to read your story. He’s a good guy, Jack, real down to Earth. You need someone who won’t hero worship, someone who’ll tell your real story, not a prettied-up version. If that’s what you want?”

 

“You know me, Hank. I’m not interested in sugar coating my life’s story. I can’t believe anyone would possibly care but send me your friend, Hank. I’ll talk to him.”

 

Jack hung up the phone and promptly forgot about the writer.

 

*

 

And he didn’t think of him again until two weeks later when Hank phoned to say the writer would be at the show in Cleveland and would be finishing the rest of the tour with him. Jack cursed under his breath; he had forgotten about his agreement with Hank. But he had given his word so he had his tour manager tracked down and let him know, only to find out Hank had beaten him to the punch.

 

“Yeah, Jack, I’ve got the information from Landry. His luggage is already on the plane, he’ll be leaving the arena with you tonight.”

 

“Great. Whaddya say his name was?” Jack skinned on black leather trousers, not at all embarrassed of his nudity in front of John Shepard.

 

“Jackson. Daniel Jackson.”

 

*

 

He was about what Jack expected. Glasses shielding beautiful, shy eyes, check. Tweed, professor-type jacket, check. Air of studious reserve, check. The only thing Jack hadn’t expected was for him to be so damned young. His hand, when he offered it, was long, slim, and artistic. Jack wondered idly if he played.

 

“Thank you for allowing me to tag along with you. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as possible.” The voice was elegant, gentle, deliberately non-threatening.

 

Jack had to smile. “Yeah, that’ll happen. I’m gonna catch a quick shower before we hit the plane. See anything you like?” He waved a negligent hand at the variety of food spread across the table in his dressing room. Was it just the lighting or had Daniel suddenly gone quite pale?

 

“I…no, thank you. I don’t generally eat before flying.”

 

“Air sick? God, you’re gonna be a lot of fun to have along.” He was still laughing when he jerked his shirt off on the way to the bathroom.

 

Daniel took a deep breath and dug a bottle of sparkling water out of the ice. His stomach might, just might, be able to handle that. Flying always made him sick but for the past few days, his tummy had really been bothering him. He’d attributed it to nerves and excitement; he’d spent his entire life in academia so the foray into the world of rock music was like delving into another culture. Yes, he’d been lucky enough to place a couple of books on the bestseller list, but this could take his career to a whole new level. Clearly, this biography was the chance of a lifetime so he’d already done extensive research into his subject.

 

Jack O’Neill had lived most of his adult life in front of an audience. His excesses were well known, the sex, the booze, the drugs, the fast cars. The tragedies had been unbelievably painful; the loss of a young son in a senseless accident, the ensuing breakup of his marriage, the loss of his long-time manager in a plane crash from which Jack had walked away, all splattered across the tabloids. The successes were legendary; two dozen albums, millions of concert tickets sold over the years.

 

Daniel was rolling the bottle around in his nervous hands when Jack strolled back in, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. “So, kid, ready to find out if what they say about rock and roll is really true?”

 

He rose. “I have no doubt the stories have been greatly exaggerated.”

 

Jack waved for him to precede him from the dressing room. “I prefer to think of it as changing the names to protect the innocent.” His wardrobe manager followed with a bag containing his clothes. “Isn’t that right, Janet?” She sniffed in disdain, muttering to herself as she walked past them. “Don’t let her fool you, she loves me.”

 

“I certainly do,” she smiled evilly. “Every other Friday.”

 

*

 

Daniel was excruciatingly glad he’d passed on the food when the plane hit turbulence. Even so, he wasn’t entirely certain he and his stomach weren’t about to part company in a rather violent manner. Jack obviously gauged his distress correctly and mercilessly teased him for the bulk of the flight to Detroit. For Daniel’s sake, he was glad it was a short flight.

 

The drive to the hotel was quiet, the city streets nearly deserted at this hour of the morning. If there was one thing Jack hated about the life he led, it was the fact that he missed the best parts of the days; idly he wondered when the last time was that he’d seen the sun rise. Or set, for that matter.

 

The hotel manager ushered them up to the penthouse floor, which totally belonged to them. Daniel disappeared immediately upon being pointed toward a room. Jack beckoned the manager over to softly ask for a favor. With a smile, the man whipped out a cell phone. “We have a guest in need of something to settle his stomach in the penthouse. Ginger ale, fresh ice and some crackers please. Thank you.” He ended the call. “If your guest requires medical assistance, we can contact a local doctor.”

 

“Let’s hold off on that, shall we?” Jack grinned unabashedly.

 

*

 

He knocked softly on the door before easing it open. “Daniel? You okay?” A muttered oath was barely audible. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Jack negotiated the room with the available light behind him, guessing that more light wasn’t something Daniel would welcome. “Come on, got something for you.”

 

“Don’t want it.” Daniel rolled over, away from the light.

 

“Sit up. I promise this will make you feel better.” Jack poured the ginger ale over ice. “Just ginger ale and some crackers.”

 

Daniel reluctantly sat up, hiking the covers up over one T-shirt clad shoulder; Jack bit his lip at the cautious modesty. “I don’t think that’s going to help.” He nonetheless took the ginger ale and sipped carefully.

 

“Just try a little bit. Got you some crackers. You have to eat a little something. Trust me.”

 

“You get airsick?” Daniel drank a little more. His stomach had tentatively accepted the icy drink.

 

“Used to.” Jack leaned back against the footboard, stretched out his long legs. “Used to puke my guts out...oh, sorry.” He grimaced at Daniel’s countenance. “Anyway, I tried just about everything. Even got acupuncture.”

 

Daniel shuddered. “I think I’d rather have the upset stomach.” He took one of the proffered crackers.

 

“So. Tell me about yourself.” Jack didn’t offer the fact that he’d already gotten a report from Landry about the writer; he wanted to see how he saw himself.

 

“Not much to tell.”

 

“Married?” Jack thought his face had a bit more color now as he idly munched a cracker.

 

“Once. A very long time ago.” He seemed to find the glass fascinating.

 

“Hmm, well, unless you married as a child, it couldn’t have been that long ago.”

 

“I’d really rather talk about you.” Daniel adroitly deflected the conversation.

 

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s plenty of time for that.” He rose gracefully. “Let me know if you need anything else. Good night, Daniel.”

 

“Good night, Jack. And thanks.”

 

*

 

The first thing that might surprise one about Jack O’Neill is his unfailing kindness; I’m not entirely certain he realizes this about himself. But he is. His entourage, his staff, strangers, are all subjected to the same thoughtful manner. It isn’t what one expects for someone as famous as himself. But he doesn’t seem to be quite aware that he is different. He believes everyone treats their fellow man like this.

 

I understand this hasn’t always been the case.

 

If you speak to people who knew Jack O’Neill twenty years ago, they will paint a portrait of a thoughtless, selfish, ruthless bastard whose only focus was the person who looked back at him in the mirror. So what changed him?

 

Everyone is shaped by their childhood. Jack is no different. Raised in the Midwest, between Chicago and the wilds of Minnesota, his upbringing was typical for both the time and the place. One of three sons, he got through school on his charm and athletic ability, eschewing academics after receiving the barest of grades necessary to stay on whatever team he was on at the time.

 

This led to many people underestimating his intellect. His business acumen is unparalleled; he’s one of the few performers of his era to have actually saved some of his money by virtue of having wise management, stubbornly hanging on to his own songbook and declining all offers to buy the rights. He could retire comfortably and not worry about the mundane facts of life.

 

*

 

The sun was high in the sky when Jack resurfaced the next day. He ordered room service and took a soak in the Jacuzzi. “Shep!” He shouted at his tour manager, knowing the man would be somewhere close.

 

“Yeah?” His head appeared in the doorway.

 

“Let me know when room service gets here, will ya? And check on that writer kid. He was tossing his cookies last night.”

 

“He went for a walk about an hour ago, said he wanted to get some fresh air.”

 

“What do you make of him?”

 

“Seems to have his head on straight. Landry likes him so he must be alright.” Shep perched on the edge of the sink, propped his long legs up on the edge of the commode. “What’s he doing here anyway?”

 

“Well, I guess I’m gonna let him write my memoirs.” Jack glanced up casually, to gauge his reaction.

 

Shep laughed. “So you want me to make you look good?”

 

“Son, I don’t need your help. I look good all on my own.” He snorted as Shep dashed to answer the doorbell.

 

*

 

“Jack.” He tried to shrug away the hand shaking his shoulder. “Jack! Wake up.”

 

Blearily, Jack squinted at one of his guitar players. “Biff, what the hell?”

 

“Shep sent me back here to get you. It’s that writer kid, he’s sick.”

 

“Again.” Jack struggled to free himself from his blankets. “Get him some ginger ale and let me go back to sleep.”

 

“Shep says he’s really sick.”

 

Jack yawned and reluctantly sat up. “How sick?”

 

“Shep asked Thom where the nearest airport was.”

 

Okay, that was serious. Jack jerked his shoes on and followed Biff through the plane. Shep had him lying across two seats, covered with blankets. “Hey, kid,” Jack perched on the seat across from him. “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

 

Jack snorted. His face was sickly pale and beads of sweat were popping out all over his forehead. “Yeah, you look it. Biff, keep an eye on him, I’m gonna talk to Shep.”

 

He found Shep sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, obviously trying to keep his flying hours up to date. “Jack, I’m not a doctor but I think we need to get him to a hospital.”

 

Jack glanced out the windshield at the darkness. “Yeah, he looks pretty rough. What do you think’s wrong with him?”

 

“He’s been fighting this thing since Cleveland. Doesn’t sound much like just being air sick. His stomach’s pretty tender, he about jumped out of the seat when I touched him.”

 

“Okay,” Jack raked a hand through his hair. “What have we got, Thom? How soon can you get us down? And we’ll need to let the tower know to have an ambulance standing by.”

 

“We’re forty-five minutes from DFW; that’s probably our best bet.”

 

“Okay, you do what you need to and we’ll keep an eye on the kid.”

 

*

 

By the time they landed in Dallas/Fort Worth less than an hour later, Daniel was biting his lip to keep from crying out and Jack and Shep had nearly paced a hole in the floor.

 

“Hey, I hear you’ve got a patient for us.” The paramedic was carrying a box that Jack would swear weighed more than she did.

 

“Yeah, thanks for getting here so quick. His name’s Daniel Jackson and he’s been pretty sick for the past three or four days. He kept saying he was air sick but…”

 

“He should have gotten better when he got on the ground.” She maneuvered around the guys. “Hi, Daniel, my name is Kellie. I understand you’re feeling pretty bad.”

 

“Just sick. That’s all.”

 

“Let us be the judge of that. Frank, we’re gonna need that gurney.”

 

Daniel struggled to sit up. “I can walk.”

 

Kellie gently pushed him back down. “No can do, chief, you’re gonna get me in trouble with my boss. Besides, we’re holding up the whole airport right now. Sooner we get you to the ambulance, sooner all these folks can get to where they’re going.” She glanced behind her. “Some of you guys wanna help us here?”

 

Jack pulled Shepard aside while they were loading Daniel. “Listen, do me a favor..”

 

“You want me to ride with the kid?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, I can’t. We’ve got to make the show.”

 

“No problem, let me grab my bag. As soon as they get him admitted and get a diagnosis, I’ll let you know. I’ll catch you guys up somewhere.”

 

Jack stopped the gurney. “Hey, Daniel, be a good boy, do what the docs tell you, okay? Shep’s gonna ride shotgun so he’ll report back to me if you misbehave.” Daniel’s reply was a moan. Jack followed the paramedics and watched as they rolled the gurney off the plane and down the bridge. He caught Kellie by the arm. “Listen, what do you think it is?”

 

“Don’t know for sure. Flu, stomach bug, appendicitis. You sending someone with him?”

 

“Yeah, here he is.”

 

Shep dashed after the paramedics. “I’ll call you, Jack. Don’t worry, he’s in good hands.”

 

*

 

Jack worried all the way to Denver. In the week he’d been with them, he’d gotten to like having the kid around. Yeah, he was quiet and most of the time you didn’t know he was even there, but the two of them had taken to playing chess nearly every day. Jack reckoned they were about even in matches won, although he had a sneaking suspicion Daniel might have let him win a game or two. And he’d come up on him and Deel thumping on the keyboard a couple of times, affirming Jack’s musing about Daniel’s musical talents, the boy did have piano player hands.

 

So he practically leaped when his cell phone rang. “Yeah?”

 

“Jack, it’s me. We’re in the hospital.”

 

“So, what’s the good news?”

 

“The docs want to know if he has any family to contact.”

 

Jack’s stomach clenched. “Why?”

 

“It’s his appendix, it’s ruptured, they’re prepping him for emergency surgery.” He took a deep breath. “It’s bad, Jack. The doc says it’s touch and go at this point.”

 

“I’ll have Thom turn the plane around.” Jack bounded to his feet.

 

“Nothing you can do, Jack. It’ll be over, one way or another, before you got here anyway. About his family?”

 

“Call Hank, see if he’s got a line on who to call. Shep…”

 

“Don’t worry, Jack, I won’t leave him.”

 

“Dammit,” Jack swore softly as he hung up.

 

 

*

 

He simply couldn’t go onstage without checking one last time; Shep’s voice came through loud and clear. “I was just about to call you, Jack. He just got out of surgery like five minutes ago, docs are a bit more optimistic now. The infection is serious, looks like he’s gonna be out of it for awhile.”

 

Jack released a deeply held breath. “Thanks, Shep.”

 

“Yeah, he had us all worried, didn’t he?” Neither one even tried to deny that they’d grown to like the quiet writer.

 

“That he did. Call Hank, let him know, will ya? Looks like we’re gonna have to rethink him finishing the tour out.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna be up for that. Have a good show, Jack. Call me when you get off stage.”

 

*

 

But all my words come back to me

In shades of mediocrity

Like emptiness in harmony

I need someone to comfort me

 

Homeward Bound

I wish I was Homeward Bound

Home, where my thoughts escaping

Home, where my music’s playing

Home, where my love lies waiting silently for me

 

There was, Daniel supposed, something comforting about waking up to Jack O’Neill singing Simon and Garfunkel. With the possible exception that he’d always thought Heaven would ring with angel voices, not ‘60’s rock. God evidently was a discerning fan.

 

“Mr. Jackson? Come on, Daniel, open your eyes.” Okay, maybe not Heaven. Daniel squinted as he obeyed the voice’s command. “There, it’s good to see you awake finally.” A straw was inserted in his mouth and he automatically sucked. The water was cool and crisp and a blessing to his mouth and throat.

 

“What?” His voice had obviously decided not to cooperate. He licked his lips and tried again. “What happened?”

 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” The voice asked as his bed was adjusted to a semi-upright position.

 

Daniel hazily sorted through his memories. “The plane, I was sick on the plane.”

 

“Yes, you were. You’ve had your appendix taken out three days ago and then you had quite a bit of infection. Do you know where you are?”

 

“Hospital?”

 

She chuckled. “Good guess, do you know what city?” Daniel thought for a minute, then shook his head. “You’re in Dallas. Your plane landed at DFW, they took you off the plane and brought you straight here. You missed quite a bit of excitement last night.”

 

“I did?” Daniel couldn’t stop repeating what she’d said.

 

“O’Neill was here last night. The entire band. They came in and you were asleep and even though they wanted to, we wouldn’t let them wake you. They left you some things.” Daniel gazed around the room. There were several vases of flowers, some balloons, an MP3 player, which explained the music he’d heard, and what looked suspiciously like a laptop.

 

“Is that mine?” He gestured to the table.

 

“Yes, Mr. O’Neill thought you might like to have it. Your clothes are here in the closet and he left you a message.” She picked up his laptop and brought it over to him. “He is quite the charmer, isn’t he? When we wouldn’t let them wake you, they visited some other patients. Very sweet of them.” She showed him the call button, the TV remote and the phone before straightening his covers and bustling out.

 

Daniel found the message on his media player and hit play. “Hey, Daniel, it’s Jack,” He smiled at the sound of the other band members chiming in with their greetings. “Listen, we have to hit the road again, finish out the tour. The docs say you aren’t going to be up for traveling for awhile, bummer. Anyway, we’ll figure out a way to get together, so you can finish up your book. Behave yourself, don’t give the nurses a hard time and we’ll drop you a call when we can. See ya soon. Bye.” He hit play and listened again, telling himself it was the medication that made him feel like crying.

 

*

 

Daniel was barely shuffling by the time they made it to his condo. “Yes, thank you, if you’d just carry the bags into the bedroom.” He reached for his wallet when the driver reappeared, only to have the other man wave his hand.

 

“You don’t owe me anything, sir. The other party paid for everything.”

 

“Thank you again.” He locked the door and made his way back to the living room couch, grabbing the remote before he lowered himself down. Opting for music, he fumbled around until he located his favorite classical station and turned the music down low.

 

It had been a strange day, to say the least, after a strange week. Although he’d certainly been glad to get out of the hospital, he had dreaded the thought of flying from Denver back home to Chicago. Only to find out Jack had arranged a car to whisk him to the airport, a private jet so he could lie down all the way and yet another car to bring him home and get him settled.

 

Even though he knew he’d have to eventually get up and see about food, he remained lying on the couch, listening to the music and thinking about nothing much at all.

 

The ringing doorbell drew him out of his drowsy state. Cautiously, he made his way to the door. “Hey, Robert.” He was genuinely glad to see his associate from the Oriental Institute.

 

“Geez, Daniel, you look awful!” Robert closed the door behind him, trailing Daniel back to the living room. “Are you feeling any better?”

 

“Just really, really sore.” He lay back down; after all, it was just Robert.

 

“Dr. Jordan was really worried about you, you know?” Robert opened the drapes, something he did nearly every time he visited.

 

“Yeah, he called me in Denver.” Daniel wriggled around on the couch. “So tell me what’s going on at work?” Robert had his head stuck in the refrigerator in the galley kitchen. “You’re probably not going to find much in there. I cleaned it out before I left town.”

 

“Really? Well, someone must have done some shopping for you. There’s fruit and cheese and some stuff to make sandwiches with. You want one?”

 

Daniel’s stomach answered for him with a loud rumble. “Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble.”

 

Robert appeared with a tray of food. He placed one of the plates, a glass of ice and a ginger ale in front of Daniel before setting his loaded plate, glass and a bottle of wine on a small table. He flicked the fireplace on before making himself at home.

 

Daniel frowned at the wine. “I wouldn’t mind having a glass of that.”

 

“Nah,” Robert took a big bite. “You’d just fall asleep before I told you all the gossip.”

 

Daniel picked up one of the sandwich quarters and took a bite. “So, what is the gossip?” He maneuvered the food around in his mouth.

 

“You know that doc that Jordan hired to take over your classes?”

 

“Dr. Sara Gardner? I’ve never met her but we’ve emailed each other a few times.”

 

“Well, she certainly knows you. And she said something to Stephen about how much she admired your work…”

 

Daniel laughed. “And that went over very well.” It was no secret among the archaeology staff that Daniel was Dr. Jordan’s favorite of all the professors; he’d known Daniel’s parents and had taken him under his wing when he arrived as a teenaged college graduate.

 

“I think Stephen thought she’d go out with him. She set him down quite hard; you really should have seen it.”

 

Daniel’s hand went to his side. “Please, don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”

 

*

 

Daniel sighed heavily as he crept around his bedroom; it seemed like ages since he’d been home. After Robert left, Daniel puttered around, putting away his things, sorting through his notes and the few tapes he had recorded before he’d gotten sick.

 

He was thankful his bathroom had a shower with a shallow step, several jets and featured a seat where he could rest while he showered, which he did. He emerged clean, wet and exhausted. He dried carefully, dressed even more carefully before easing himself onto the bed. Telling himself he really should work, what he did instead was crawl under the covers and prepare to turn off the light.

 

His hand was on the bedside lamp when his phone rang. Picking up his glasses, he realized he didn’t recognize the number. Who would be calling him from Las Vegas? “Hello?”

 

“Hey, Daniel, so you made it home okay?” Jack’s voice was as clear as if he were in the same room.

 

“Hi, Jack. I did and I believe I have you to thank for that.”

 

“It was just a few phone calls, nothing, really. So, how are you feeling? Really?”

 

Daniel snuggled down into the covers. “Who would have thought having surgery would wear you out like this? I haven’t gone to bed this early in a long time.”

 

“You’re in bed?”

 

“Yes.” Daniel absently removed his glasses, set them on the nightstand before flicking the light down low.

 

“So what are you wearing?” Jack’s voice growled softly across the lines.

 

“Pajamas,” Daniel replied, clearly puzzled. “Why?”

 

“No reason, just want to make sure you stay nice and warm and cozy. Chicago can be cool this time of year.” Jack laughed sharply, glad he had an extra half hour before stage time.

 

*

 

“So, you went back to work today? How was that?” Jack stuffed the hotel pillows behind his head, stretched his long legs out on the bed.

 

“Well, I just went to look at a couple of things, I wasn’t actually working.” He tucked the phone under his chin as he climbed into bed.

 

“Can’t do without Dr. Jackson, huh?”

 

“I do have a bit of expertise in that area.” Daniel pointed out with a yawn. “How was last night’s show?”

 

“Good, Seattle’s always been good to us, you know?”

 

“So, last three shows, how does that feel?”

 

“Scary, if you want the truth. And that’s one of the reasons I called. Atlanta’s the last show, can you make it? Will you be able to fly by then?”

 

“That’s what? Thursday? I should be able to, if you really want me?”

 

Jack was glad Daniel couldn’t see his smile, he had a feeling it would scare the guy to death. “Yes, I want you, Daniel.”

 

*

 

“Hey, Daniel, let me take that for you,” Shep nipped the carryon out of Daniel’s hand. “Give the driver your tickets, he’ll get your bags. So, how are you feeling?”

 

“I’m fine.” Shep personally thought he looked a bit pale, a bit too thin.

 

“Well, Jack wanted to come himself but…”

 

“He’d get mobbed. Considering they just made the announcement last night that today’s concert was his last one. Odd timing, isn’t it? I mean, don’t performers usually depart on a two-year concert tour?” Daniel sat in the seat Shep directed him to, glad of the chance to catch his breath while they waited on the luggage.

 

“You know Jack, when he makes up his mind, he just does it.”

 

“What about the rest of you guys? What are you going to do?”

 

Shep shrugged his thin shoulders. “I admit it’ll be strange, going out with someone else. Jack and Deel and I have been in this since the beginning. Other guys have come and gone but it’s always been the three of us. The guys won’t have any trouble finding work and me, well, I’m gonna take it easy for awhile. Deel’s wife says he has to stay home and change diapers for six months so she can take a break.”

 

Daniel smiled. He’d grown to like Jack’s entire band but he had to admit to a certain affection for the keyboard player. An intimidating 6’4” that looked like NFL muscle, Deel was putty in the hands of his petite and pretty wife. The wife he’d credited with saving his life.

 

He’d freely admitted to Daniel that he’d enjoyed the drugs and the drinking and the careless sex. Until he’d met Lily. He’d gotten straight and sober several times, but none had stuck until a pushy nurse had butted into his life and refused to butt out until he’d cleaned up his life.

 

*

 

Daniel was embarrassed by the flush of pleasure that ran through him when the band greeted him sincerely and enthusiastically. He hadn’t thought of himself as a person for whom that type of thing mattered; it was somewhat disconcerting to find this out about himself.

 

Jack was all solicitous care, ushering him into his dressing room so he could get off his feet. Daniel stopped him short of wrapping him in a quilt and making him lay down, only agreeing to stretch out on the couch, scowling when Jack draped the folded quilt across him, muttering something about the air conditioning.

 

“Jack, I’m fine.”

 

“My mom would say you look a little peaky. Speaking of…”

 

“Are you sure it’s okay to interview your parents?” Daniel’d been surprised that his travel plans now called for him to accompany Jack to see his parents. Although Daniel wondered how open they’d be with him with Jack present, he did want to see the interaction between child and parents.

 

“You need to, right, for the book?”

 

“I do but you need to be okay with it.”

 

“Well, my folks pretty much know all my deep, dark secrets. Hell, half the civilized world knows them and the uncivilized world,” he grinned unabashedly, “were there when they happened.” Jack perched on the vanity. “You don’t have a close relationship with your parents?”

 

“My parents are dead,” Daniel picked at a loose thread on the quilt.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” You’d have to be an idiot, Jack thought, not to see this was an extremely sore spot for the other man. “Anyway, we’re flying back to Watseka tomorrow. Odd, isn’t it, that you and I both ended up around Chicago?”

 

“I came for the Oriental Institute and just never left.”

 

“Except when you went to dig up some dead guys bones?”

 

Janet stuck her head around the door. “Mikey just came off stage, so you’ve got about a half an hour.”

 

Jack stood, stretching. “Duty calls. Shep’ll come and get you when we hit the stage.”

 

“Have a good show, Jack.”

 

*

 

“You wouldn’t be the first boy I’ve brought to meet the parents.” Jack’s eyes were wolfish.

 

Greta scolded him with her own eyes even as she kissed her son’s cheek, which was nearly on the same level with hers. “Quit teasing him, Jack. Can’t you see you’re embarrassing him?”

 

“Kinda why I’m doing it, Mom.” Jack replied, far too pleased with himself.

 

“Daniel, come on through to the kitchen. Jack, your father is at the barn.” In other words, make yourself scarce. Jack obeyed without hesitation. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Daniel?”

 

“Thanks, Mrs. O’Neill, that would be great.” Daniel eased himself into a comfortable looking chair in the tiny sitting area off the big kitchen; he wasn’t quite as healed as he’d originally thought.

 

“Oh, please, call me Greta. We’re not much to stand on ceremony here in the country. Black?”

 

“Yes, please,” Daniel took the large, white mug and sipped cautiously; not everyone could make a decent cup of coffee. “Mmm, that’s very good.”

 

“Took me years before Bill would admit my coffee was as good as his mother’s.” She sat in the chair beside him, a long, lean woman with soft, dove grey eyes and salt and pepper hair. “So, you’re going to write Jack’s book.”

 

“I’m trying. I hope to interview both you and Jack’s father, if that’s alright.”

 

“I’ll admit that if Jack hadn’t approved of this, hadn’t asked us to cooperate, I wouldn’t have. He’s been hurt far too many times for me to be anything but suspicious of reporters.” Judging by her eyes, Jack wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt.

 

“I’m not a reporter.” Daniel pointed out gently.

 

“I know,” she smiled warmly. “So tell me about yourself.”

 

“I should have warned you about her, I guess.” Jack paused in the doorway before he and another man, who couldn’t be mistaken for anyone but his father, entered. “She’ll know your life history before you can get that coffee finished.”

 

“Now, Jack, you’re embarrassing him again. Bill, this is Daniel Jackson. Daniel, my husband, Bill. No, now don’t you get up, Jack said you’d just had surgery.” Greta’s firm hand landed on his shoulder. “Honey, sit down here and talk to this young man and I’ll see about starting supper.”

 

*

 

“So,” Jack said when Daniel walked out on the back porch the next morning.

 

Daniel squinted into the early morning as he sat in the old rocking chair. “I know people get up early in the country, but do they always get up this early?”

 

“Oh, yes, welcome to farm living.” He handed Daniel the remains of his coffee. “Why do you think I took up sex, drugs and rock and roll?” His eyes twinkled.

 

“Honestly? I probably would have, too.” He sat down, and mimicking Jack, put his feet up on the low table. “It’s hard to believe we’re not far out of Chicago, it seems like a world away.”

 

“Chicago originally started as a frontier town, I’ll thank you to remember. Cattle from the Midwest were brought here to the slaughter houses. And we can be in the city in two hours. So, kind of the best of both worlds.”

 

“You’re not retiring here?” Daniel looked out over the early morning mist and had to admit, it was a pretty place.

 

“Nah, Dad’ll be trying to make me milk the cows or shovel shit or something…”

 

“Language, Jack,” Greta reprimanded from the screen door. “Daniel, would you like some breakfast? Don’t let Jack fool you, Bill has milking machines and there are farm hands to do that kind of work.” Daniel followed her into the kitchen. “Wash up at the sink, Daniel, and sit down. Jack jokes about it, but he’s been a big help to us, modernizing the farm and the house. It’s not the type of work it once was but Bill won’t even talk about retiring.”

 

“I’ve told them they can have the new house and I’ll take the cabin.” Jack snitched a piece of bacon from the plate before sitting beside Daniel.

 

“So where’s the new house?”

 

“Minnesota, Elbow Lake to be specific. My granddad had a cabin up there, I bought the adjacent land and had a house built. I’m planning on going up after I leave here, why don’t you come with me? It’ll just be us, you can interview me to your heart’s content.”

 

“If you don’t mind? I don’t want to intrude.” Daniel had to admit, it would be an excellent way to wrap up his research.

 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t okay with it. We can swing through Chicago on the way?”

 

“Thanks, that would be great.”

*

 

Jack invited himself to tag along to Daniel’s apartment, admitting to blatant curiosity. “It’s nothing much,” Daniel apologized as he unlocked the front door. “Make yourself at home while I grab some more clothes.”

 

“You don’t need to pack much,” Jack reminded him. “I do have a washer and dryer at the house.”

 

Daniel was already mentally perusing his wardrobe while Jack snooped around the apartment. It was modern, which surprised Jack, meticulously clean, which didn’t. The kitchen was tiny but neat, the living room had a sleek fireplace and a gorgeous downtown view; there’d been a time Jack would have preferred it to the country. He wandered over to the stereo, fingering the CDs stacked neatly to the side. Chopin, Bach, he expected but was pleasantly surprised to see some of his own music, too.

 

He turned when Daniel rolled his suitcase into the living room. “Tell the truth, did you have any idea who I was before Hank called you?”

 

Daniel looked somewhat abashed. “Truthfully? No, I didn’t have a clue. I went to the music store and bought everything I could find.”

 

“My accountant thanks you,” Jack smiled. “But I would have sent you anything, without your having to pay for it.”

 

“That might have been construed as a bribe,” Daniel answered stiffly.

 

It charmed Jack that Daniel didn’t seem to know when he was being teased; he promised himself to do so more often. “I hope you didn’t pack anything too dressy; it’s a pretty simple life up there.”

 

“Just jeans,” Daniel answered.

 

Jack grabbed the suitcase, “Then let’s hit the road. Next stop, Minnesota.”

 

*

 

He could, Daniel thought, get used to this kind of life very easily. Private jet waiting at the airport, driver to handle the luggage, all Daniel had to carry was his laptop. Only Jack had yanked that out of his hand and left him to just tote himself on the plane. “Jack, it doesn’t weigh ten pounds.” Daniel had protested.

 

“And so it’s no problem for me to carry it. I still think you look a little pale. You need to get some sun on your face. Minnesota will be good for you.”

 

*

 

Daniel realized his idea of a large, luxurious country estate was completely wrong. Yes, the house was large, built with local stone and rough-hewn logs. But there were no large, iron gates, the road wasn’t even paved all the way, it gave way to gravel about a mile away from the clearing where the house sat. Jack parked in front of the house, saying that he’d put the truck in the garage later. “Well, what do you think?” He spread his arms and turned in a large circle.

 

“I think it’s worth the trip just for the view.” The forest swept in on three sides of the house, with a lake peeking out from the back.

 

“The real view’s out back. Come on in.” Jack crossed the shaded porch to unlock the front door and Daniel followed him in. The living room took up three-fourths of the front of the house, with a screened in porch occupying the remainder of the room. A cathedral ceiling vaulted to the top of the house, exposing huge wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, tucked into the corner was a fireplace with stone that matched the exterior. “Go on, check it out.”

 

Daniel explored to the left of the stairs that rose in the middle of the room and found the kitchen. The back wall of the house echoed the front in the wide expanse of windows and he found himself agreeing with Jack; the back view was definitely the best. Beyond the back deck was a grassy verge and boat dock on a large lake with waves gently rippling in the late afternoon breeze. He ran his hand over the large kitchen island, with sturdy wooden posts for legs and a deep grey marble top, matching the dining room table across the room. The fireplace in the back wall was a welcome surprise, promising to warm anyone seated on the two oversized couches in front of it.

 

A few step to the right, Daniel found what he would call a music room, although he wasn’t sure if that was the correct term. There was a piano, guitars of all shapes, colors and sizes and lots of comfortable looking chairs scattered around.

 

A pool table and an antique-looking bar completed the tour and brought him back to the living room where the wall facing the front door was lined with bookshelves and held a tidy desk. He peeked into a downstairs bathroom before slowly climbing the stairs.

 

“Daniel?” He followed Jack’s voice to the left after taking a moment to hang over the railing and gaze at the living room down below. A large set of French doors to the left opened into a gigantic, at least to Daniel’s standards, bedroom. “Hey, come on over here.” Jack beckoned from yet another set of doors that led out onto the back deck. “Now, this is the view.”

 

“Wow,” Daniel breathed. “This is magnificent.”

 

“I came up here and camped out for a few days, just so I could find the perfect spot to see the sunrise. It comes up over those trees and sets the lake on fire every morning. I’ve put you in the guest room over there, it gets the morning sun, too.” He followed where Jack was pointing, stopping to peer into the windows before stepping back, his face flushed. “Yep, the bathroom gets the morning sun, too.” Daniel blinked at the idea of a bathroom with one wall completely visible to the outdoors. Jack just smiled back at him, before putting a comforting hand on his back to propel him back into the house. “Don’t worry, your bathroom just has one window and it’s on the other side.”

 

Daniel took a longer look around the room, at the diamond-shaped skylight over the bed, which was quite possibly the largest he’d ever seen, with massive posts that were easily ten feet high. “Is that a…you have a bar in your bedroom?”

 

“It’s a great idea! I have a little sink and a refrigerator so if I want a drink of water in the middle of the night, I can just grab one.”

 

“Hmm, I suppose that makes sense.” He found himself looking at yet another fireplace, this one in between the doors out onto the deck. “You must really like fireplaces.”

 

“I do, but they’re also a practical necessity. If the power goes out, you have some heat. Much as I like the wood fires, these are gas.”

 

Daniel looked a bit alarmed. “Does the power go out often?”

 

“I don’t know, I’ve never spent a whole winter up here before.” His voice edged toward wistful before he shook his head. “But I also have a generator in a little building out back. It can run the fridge, the freezer, the furnace if it has to. The lines are buried from the transformer so if it goes it would be in that direction.” His tone suggested that he was almost looking forward to it.

 

*

 

Daniel woke the next morning to low sounds of a guitar and a softly crooning voice. He lay there and listened to the song about a rodeo cowboy; Jack must be in the music room directly below. Finally, he rose, showered and dressed and headed downstairs.

 

“Hey, I didn’t wake you, did I?” A look of consternation filled Jack’s face.

 

“No, no, you didn’t,” Daniel lied quickly. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late, must be something about the air up here.”

 

“Someone once said there’s no quiet like a country quiet.” Jack gently laid his guitar down. “You want some breakfast?”

 

Daniel hesitated. “You don’t mind if I cook for myself?”

 

“Hey, make yourself at home.” Jack picked up his guitar and followed him over to the kitchen. “I guess you’re pretty used to fending for yourself? Being single and all?” Jack winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth; he remembered Daniel telling him ages ago he’s been married. Jack’s curiosity had gotten the better of him and he’d poked around and discovered that Daniel’s wife had been killed before their first anniversary. “Sorry.” He offered softly.

 

Daniel had schooled his face before he turned around from the refrigerator. “No, it’s okay. Sha’re and I didn’t really have what you’d consider a traditional marriage.” As he puttered around the kitchen, cooking bacon and eggs, he told Jack about how he’d met her in Egypt on a dig, how they’d fallen head over heels and married within days, how they’d lived in Egypt while he worked, how she’d been in the market one day when a drunk driver had plowed into the crowd. “Sha’re was taken to a local hospital but I got there before she died. So I at least got to say good-bye. She looked…” he faltered before clearing his throat and going on. “She looked fine, but it was internal injuries and it was Egypt and not Chicago. If she’d been here, in the states…”

 

“You can’t live like that, Daniel, you’ll drive yourself crazy. You can’t second guess yourself.”

 

“I know that, Jack. In my head, I know that. But my heart keeps telling me that if I’d brought her here, back home, I might not have lost her.” Daniel kept his gaze on the toaster.

 

“Been there, done that, Daniel. If I hadn’t been drunk, if I hadn’t overslept, if, if, if…Then Charlie wouldn’t have gotten out of the house and he wouldn’t have drowned in that damned swimming pool.”

 

“Jack, I’m sorry,” Daniel turned distressed eyes toward the other man.

 

“I’ve made my peace with losing Charlie. I found out there isn’t enough booze or drugs or anything that’s gonna change the past. I had him and I’ll never forget him. That’s what I live with now.”

 

The dinging of the toaster intruded and Daniel busied himself with his breakfast. He brought his plate and a cup of coffee to the island and perched on the stool beside Jack, who promptly snatched a piece of bacon. “I hope you don’t mind,” Jack inquired innocently.

 

“Why do you think I made so much?” Daniel shot back at him.

 

*

 

Their days fell into a lazy pattern. Jack rose early, Daniel woke to Jack’s singing. Sometimes it was his own music; other times it was songs he just liked. Daniel had heard songs written as apologies, soft seductions under nighttime stars, unapologetic songs of being one’s self. There were, he thought, much worse ways of being wakened.

 

He waited for Jack to finish playing before he showered and wandered down to cook breakfast for the two of them. Sometimes Jack was downstairs waiting, some mornings he was sitting on the dock with a fishing pole in hand. “No boat yet, but I’m looking around,” he told Daniel one morning. “How are you on boats?” Daniel paled. “I’ll take that as a no, then. Mmm, pity.” Jack had envisioned fucking Daniel to the slow rock of a boat on the lake.

 

They’d walk through the woods and Jack would point out animal tracks for the fascinated Daniel, whose sole experience with animals had been his aquarium. “I’m thinking about getting a dog.” Jack offered as he threw stick toward the lake.

 

“Be a nice place for one. Plenty of room to run around.” Daniel agreed.

 

Lunch was usually just sandwiches and conversation. Daniel was getting plenty of stories for his book although he did wonder if Jack was exaggerating certain tales to shock him; he knew he’d blushed more than once at some outrageous claims Jack had made.

 

In the afternoon, Daniel would type his notes on his laptop. He’d started working up in his bedroom but soon discovered that he and Jack could work harmoniously in the same room. Daniel wrote on his book and Jack wrote new music. “So, not really retiring?” Daniel teased.

 

“No,” Jack folded his arms across the top of the guitar. “I mean, I’m not really the just do nothing type. No, I’m not going out touring or making any more albums. But I don’t think I can ever stop making music. I’ll write and let other people record them,” he smiled slyly. “Besides, I need the money.”

 

Daniel glanced around the house. “Yeah, I can see that. Will you miss it? The touring, I mean?”

 

“This is who I really am. You have to do the concerts and the videos in order to sell the music, that’s just a fact. But that was a…a face I put on so that I could keep making music. Do me a favor?” Jack abruptly changed the subject.

 

“If I can.”

 

Jack handed him a piece of sheet music. “Play that, on the keyboard.”

 

Daniel demurred. “I’m not a piano player, Jack.”

 

“Don’t have to be, but I know you can read music. Just play if for me, let me hear how it sounds.” Daniel reluctantly moved to the keyboard, turned it on and propped the sheets up. Jack watched as he adjusted the papers, adjusted the seat, adjusted his glasses and thought he could just eat him up, he was so damned cute in his discomfort. “Relax, Daniel, I’m not expecting perfection. Just play the damned thing already.” Jack let him play it through once to get the feel of it, then brought the guitar in on the second run. “We work well together. And you play much better than you let on. You’ve had lessons,” he accused.

 

“When I was a kid, one of my foster mothers taught piano,” he revealed unintentionally. “She thought I had a knack for it.”

 

“More than a knack, I’d say. You have a good ear, musically, and that can’t be taught.” He laid his guitar down and leaned back. “Play me something, something you like.”

 

Daniel protested softly but Jack was adamant. “Okay, this is just something she really liked and one of the first things she taught me.” He took a deep breath then played a few, sad, sorrowful notes before seriously getting into the music.

 

Jack grinned, waiting until Daniel had finished. “’Hill Street Blues’. I loved that show, but you cannot remember that, you must have been, five or six?”

 

“I don’t remember the show but my foster mother did and she especially loved the music.”

 

“She had good taste,” Jack rose to sit beside him on the bench. “Let’s try something together.”

 

*

 

“That was a great steak,” Daniel slouched in his chair on the back porch.

 

“I’ll pass that on to the folks.” Jack split the rest of the bottle of red between their glasses.

 

“The folks?”

 

“They run a few beef cattle, too. I got Mom to pack some in dry ice and ship it to me.”

 

“Gives a whole new meaning to the word ‘fresh.’” Daniel mused as he nursed his wine.

 

“So you’re heading back to Chicago?” Jack found the thought depressed him although he realized Daniel’s research on his book had to be nearly done.

 

He had made reservations for tomorrow; Jack was driving him in to St. Cloud to catch his flight. “Yeah, that’ll give me some time to finish the book before summer school starts.”

 

“Not going digging this summer?” Jack enquired casually.

 

“No, I have to teach summer school. That was the deal I made with Dr. Jordan to get this semester off to do the book. I’d have to be back in time to teach summer school. It’s not so bad, most of the students who attend summer school are trying to hurry through a degree so they’re pretty motivated.” Daniel carefully set his glass down. “I just want to tell you how much I appreciate your help with the book.” Jack waved a negligent hand. “No, I’m serious. You’ve given me access that I wouldn’t have expected to get. From you, the band, your parents. I can’t thank you enough.”

 

“Just write a good book, Daniel. Do me, all of us, justice. That’s all I ask.” He squinted into the sunset. “Do I get to look at it before it’s published?”

 

“Of course, I’ll have the publishers send you a copy, in case there’s something you want to discuss.”

 

“You mean change.” He looked Daniel squarely in the eye.

 

Daniel didn’t flinch from the look. “No, I don’t mean change. If there’s something you can’t live with, we’ll discuss it. I can’t promise to change it, unless you feel it’s absolutely untrue. I promise to hear your side of it, but that’s all I can promise.”

 

Jack swallowed back a smile at Daniel’s expression; it was the first time he’d seen the tougher side of Daniel. “Fair enough.” He nodded.

 

*

 

Daniel was curled up in a corner of the couch, staring at the fireplace when Jack found him later that evening. “Hey, you okay?”

 

“Just taking advantage of the last little bit of quiet, you know? Chicago’s going to seem pretty loud compared to this.” The only sound in the house was the fireplace and the quiet hum of the dishwasher. Jack handed him a glass before he sat down. “Thanks,” Daniel murmured before he took a drink. And promptly choked. “What is that?”

 

“Whiskey. I thought you ought to try an adult’s drink for a change.” Jack tossed his back before refilling it from the bottle on the floor.

 

“That’s…that’ll certainly wake you up,” Daniel took another cautious sip, letting the liquor warm him all the way through.

 

“That’s the idea.” Jack toasted him. “You know, I’m gonna kind of miss you around here.”

 

“You mean, you’ll miss me cooking your breakfast and playing for you while you correct your mistakes.”

 

“Hey, there are no mistakes while you’re writing music! You just make improvements.”

 

Between the fire and the whiskey, Daniel felt a dangerous warmth flooding him, making him a little less cautious. “I believe you told me that all your works were masterpieces?”

 

“They are! I stand by that statement.” Jack protested vehemently.

 

“Even the ones that didn’t sell a million?” Daniel asked impishly.

 

Before he could stop himself, Jack lunged across the couch, pushing Daniel up against the arm, holding those slender wrists easily. “I’ll show you a masterpiece!” He loomed over the suddenly-still Daniel.

 

“Jack,” he whispered, feeling that hard body pressing him into the soft leather.

 

“Dammit!” Jack swore at the large blue eyes gazing up at him uncertainly. “Fuck!” He ground out before he lowered his head and took that shocked mouth with his own. Daniel writhed beneath him even as he kissed Jack back, letting Jack bear his head back against the arm of the couch, opening his mouth on a sigh to let Jack’s tongue plunder at will. He found his hands free and he slid them around Jack’s strong back, gripping the soft cotton of his shirt.

 

Jack furiously unbuttoned Daniel’s shirt, dragging it apart to slide his lips down to latch onto a nipple, riding Daniel’s upward thrust at the unexpected feeling. Hands grabbed shirts and yanked them over heads and off backs as those same hands stroked and explored and caressed bare flesh. Hands fumbled belt buckles and snaps and zippers until finally Jack realized the edge over which they were about to plunge. He forced himself to grasp those wrists again, slide them up until they lay on either side of Daniel’s face, stilling both pairs of hands. They lay there panting, breathing each other’s smell until Jack felt Daniel settle under him.

 

“I’m sorry, Daniel, I didn’t mean to do it like this, didn’t mean to get so out of hand.” Jack huffed when he could finally breathe. “Let’s go upstairs to bed, where we can do this properly.”

 

“Let me go, please.” Daniel begged softly. Jack sat up and Daniel shot out from under him, grasping his shirt and hastily yanking it on, shaking hands trying to do the buttons.

 

“Daniel, I didn’t mean to rush you. I thought you…I thought you wanted this too.”

 

Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and spoke to the fireplace. “I can’t do this, Jack. I can’t. The book...”

 

“This has nothing to do with the book!” Jack jerked his T-shirt back into place.

 

“It has everything to do with the book. I can’t…if people thought we were involved, they wouldn’t take the book seriously.”

 

“Fuck what people think!”

 

“I can’t take that attitude, Jack. I can’t afford to take that attitude, this is my career on the line. I’m sorry if I led you on, if I let you believe I wanted this. I don’t.” He addressed the air somewhere around Jack’s left ear.

 

“You seemed pretty enthusiastic about wanting it five minutes ago, Daniel.” Jack realized his voice was filled with derision but he couldn’t stop. The pain, the hurt, the humiliation drove him. “Or were you just trying to get a little something extra for the book? Spice up the story? Your own personal version of what it’s like to get fucked by the great Jack O’Neill?”

 

Daniel rocked in place, his mouth flying open before he ran for the stairs as if the devil himself was after him.

 

*

 

Daniel rolled his suitcase down the stairs a bare ten minutes before they were due to leave for the airport, only to find Jack on the front porch talking to a stranger. “Daniel,” Jack didn’t even turn around. “Kyle’s going to drive you to the airport, I’m working on something.”

 

Daniel licked his lips. “I see. I’m ready whenever you are, Kyle.” The other man took the suitcase and walked out to the truck. “I’ll see that you get a copy of the book. Thank you for all your help.” Daniel didn’t even look at him as he walked past shrugging into his jacket.

 

He knew Jack was watching from the front porch. Daniel didn’t flinch, didn’t turn around. He walked to the truck, got in and fastened his seat belt, glad that the stranger’s presence forced him to keep the tears at bay.

 

*

 

“You know, during the summer, I could maybe buy that ‘the heat’s been getting to me’ thing, Daniel, but it’s October now and you still don’t look any better.” Robert dropped down into the chair across from Daniel’s.

 

“I’m fine, Robert.” Daniel straightened the papers his students had turned in, that he’d yet had time to grade. Stuffing them in his briefcase, he vowed to get through all of them this weekend.

 

“Well, it can’t be the book. That’s selling like crazy. You know they can’t keep it in the bookstore?”

 

“I can’t believe the university is selling it in the bookstore.” Daniel replied dryly. It had been somewhat of a shock to see it beside the staid textbooks; to see his picture displayed beside one of Jack’s.

 

“Are you kidding? The Institute couldn’t buy this kind of publicity. And how many copies have you autographed?”

 

“Hmm, mmm, a few,” Daniel mumbled in embarrassment.

 

“So what does O’Neill think of it?”

 

Daniel fumbled his laptop into its case. “I haven’t talked to him personally, but his manager called and said that Jack was pleased with it. That’s all I really wanted, for him to like it.” Daniel had been touched that Jack’s mother had called and complimented him; he was firmly blaming allergies for the watery eyes he’d had after hanging up the phone.

 

“Daniel, ‘Rolling Stone’ said it was one of the best biographies – rock or otherwise- in the last ten years. You’re a celebrity. You’ve been on Leno!” Robert gestured as if that was proof positive.

 

“Don’t remind me, please.” Daniel had been violently ill all the way to LA, in the green room, minutes before going on. He hadn’t been entirely sure his nerves were going to let him step out on stage. But he’d toughed it out, answered some questions, apparently made some semblance of sense because Jay had laughed a couple of times.

 

“So, Daniel…”

 

The ringing phone saved him from the rest of Robert’s question. “Dr. Jackson.”

 

“Dr. Jackson, I hope I’m not intruding, it’s Hank Landry.”

 

“Of course not, Mr. Landry. It’s good to hear from you. I hope everything is well?” As if he spoke to big star rock producers everyday, he thought absently.

 

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling, I didn’t want you to hear it on the news.”

 

Robert and his office dropped out of his vision, Daniel felt his heart stutter and he was pretty sure it skipped a couple of beats before it thumped back to life in his chest. “Jack?” He barely got the word out before he felt a bottle of cold water pressed into his hand, someone helping him to take a drink.

 

“Jack’s fine. I’m sorry, it’s Deel. He died this morning.”

 

Daniel knew his mouth opened and shut several times before he could form a word. “Deel? What…what happened?”

 

“They don’t know right now. Lily found him, they’ll do an autopsy to be sure but it looks like his heart just stopped.”

 

“Deel. I…I can’t believe it.” Daniel thought about his wife, the two children, just babies. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

 

“That’s why I called. Shep believes Deel would have wanted you to play at the service. He admired your musical talents, Dr. Jackson.”

 

“I’m not sure what to say. I’ve never done…I’m not a professional.”

 

“I don’t think that mattered to him. I doubt if Jack’s going to be able to perform. He’s pretty broken up.”

 

“Poor Jack,” he murmured. “They were together from the beginning, the three of them.”

 

“Please say you’ll try to make it, Dr. Jackson. The entire band got very fond of you. Especially after the book came out.” His voice softened. “You did a good job.’

 

“Thank you. I…will you let me know about the service?” Daniel rattled off his cell and home numbers. “I’ll certainly try. It’s the least I can do for Deel.”

 

*

 

Two days later, Daniel was on yet another flight to LA. He was met by a driver who swept him out of the airport. “Mr. Landry booked you a suite at the Four Seasons and he said to tell you the room will come with a piano if you need to practice.”

 

“Thank you,” Daniel stuttered as he climbed into the limo. A hotel suite that came with a piano. And, yes, he would need to practice. He’d gotten the music Lily had requested. ‘Let it Be’ and ‘Bridge over Troubled Waters’. He’d played both before, but never for an audience like this.

 

He spent the rest of the day in the suite, playing until his fingers ached before eating his room service meal and falling into bed.

 

*

 

The service was at one o’clock and he was picked up by the same driver promptly at noon. Although the church wasn’t far, the driver reported, there was already a crowd of fans. “I’m to call Mr. Landry when we get close and he’ll meet you out front.”

 

Daniel was more than a bit unsettled as the limo pushed through the crowds held to the sides by police. He stepped out of the limo, clutching the attaché that carried his music, glad of his sunglasses shielding him from the crowds and the photographers who snapped his picture without a clue of who he was. No doubt they’d look the pictures over and discard them when they determined he wasn’t anyone important, he thought as he took Hank’s outstretched hand and let himself be led into the church. “Jack and some of the boys are in the back, they want you to sit with them.”

 

He allowed himself to be led into a sitting room area, dreading the first meeting with Jack. However, Jack walked over to hug him without hesitation. With relief, Daniel returned the hug, murmuring his condolences before stepping over to Shep and the rest of the band. The reverend took him aside and explained when he would be called to perform in the service. Daniel took a deep breath and followed the band into the sanctuary.

 

*

 

Daniel tried to avoid the wake afterward but he found he couldn’t say no to Lily when she personally asked him to come to Hank’s large house in the hills. He reluctantly agreed and spent most of his time turning down food and trying to keep out of Jack’s sight. He was relieved when people started drifting away so that he could make his farewells and slip off. His bag was in the car, the driver took him to the airport and he was in Chicago by bedtime.

 

*

 

The next morning, he found an email from Jack. It simply said, “Sorry about the new song.” Daniel was completely in the dark until one of the kids in his eight o’clock class – kids that were still talking about seeing him on television playing at the service - pointed out that a Jack O’Neill song, recorded by a popular young soul singer was on the charts. “You should really listen to it, Dr. J. We know you and him are tight,” one of his students enthused. “It’s cool.”

 

Okay, Daniel thought as he opened the door to his apartment, that must have been what Jack was talking about. Might as well hear it now, he fumbled on his laptop, searching for the song, then finding the recording. The door was firmly shut and locked when he hit play. The smooth young voice was so different from Jack’s but Daniel could hear the meaning loud and clear.

 

Just leave

The time comes, over and over

When love no longer comes first

When one heart becomes two

And forever becomes tomorrow

 

When the love is over

What’s left behind?

If I don’t matter to you, then go

Just leave

Leave it all when you go

Just leave

I won’t watch you go

 

Daniel put his head on the table and fought the tears. Then after he cried, he got mad. Then after he got angry, he got irate. How dare he, Daniel thought, as he stomped into his bedroom, yanking down a suitcase, how dare he humiliate him, expose their relationship to the world just to make a few bucks? Daniel fumed as he packed, as he booked a ticket, rented a vehicle, and emailed his students with Monday’s assignment, just in case. Just in case he was in jail, he thought as he viciously slammed the door behind him, for killing the great Jack O’Neill.

 

*

 

He kept his mad spell up all the way to St. Cloud. As he got off the plane, as he got into his rented car…no, dammit, a rented truck because some stupid idiot has to live so far off the beaten track you can’t even get a goddamned car to his house. He vented some of his frustration by playing music, quite loudly, as the speedometer hovered over the speed limit.

 

This, he thought, this is what love allegedly does to you, makes you fly halfway across the country to fight it out in person when any idiot could see those were snow clouds threatening overhead, makes you drive dangerously in big trucks and listen to loud music, makes you put on an outfit that brings out your blue eyes because you want to make someone else suffer.

 

Yes, it this is what love is all about, then I’m glad I’ve got no part of it, Daniel raged silently as he felt the gravels ping off the paint job of his rented truck. And there goes that deposit, he told himself childishly. He slammed the truck to a stop, jammed it into gear, snapped the key off before unloosening his seat belt and flinging himself out the door and up on the porch. “Jack O’Neill, where the hell are you?” He shouted as he flung the front door open.

 

“I find it sweet,” Jack drawled as he slowly descended the stairs, taking in the sight of a furious Daniel standing there in a powder blue turtleneck, skin tight jeans and a black leather jacket, “in a very erotic, completely unnecessary, kind of way that you think you have to pretty yourself up for me, Daniel.” At the risk of the other man’s wrath, Jack grinned as Daniel’s face turned several different hues of red. “Keep the blush, looks good on you.” He advised as he walked toward him.

 

“I’m mad at you.” Daniel declared into the shoulder of Jack’s shirt.

 

“You have every right to be.” Jack agreed as he continued to hold him, swaying them slightly together.

 

“You hurt my feelings.”

 

“I meant to. I’m a nasty-tempered bastard and you’d be a whole lot better off if you left right now.” Jack’s arms didn’t loosen an inch. “But you’re not gonna, are you?”

 

*

 

 

It was the sound – rather the lack of it – that woke Jack from a deep, fulfilling sleep. He glanced at the bedside clock to gauge the time, only to see that it was blank. Ah, it was all beginning to fall into place now. Yesterday’s snow had clearly taken some lines down somewhere. Carefully, he eased the covers back and heard the expected muttered protest. He quickly folded the covers down and tucked a still grumbling Daniel up all snug and warm, gracing his cheek with a kiss. He found his clothes by the fireplace light and dressed before rummaging through the hall closet for a flashlight; although he was pretty sure he could find his way around the house by now, he had no desire to test that theory with a broken neck.

 

He glanced out the front door panel before opening the door, then decided against it. There had to be a good foot of snow on top of Daniel’s rental; really should have put it in the garage, he thought. Tugging on his heavy winter boots, he bundled up and headed to the back door. The building that housed the generator was no more than three feet away but it was still going to take some determined shoveling to get to it.

 

*

 

An hour later, he was enjoying the fruits of his labor, a good, hot, strong cup of coffee. The generator was clicking away, providing energy for the kitchen appliances and the furnace. The lights, he decided to leave as is and use the oil lamps and candles he’d gotten for just such an emergency. The stove was gas as well as the water heater so they could cook and stay clean.

 

He’d taken a few minutes to listen to the weather report, called the outage into the power company who declined to estimate how long it would take and just put them on the list. A list Jack was willing to bet was growing longer by the minute.

 

He debated taking the coffee upstairs but decided against it. Daniel would smell it and he wouldn’t be happy about being awakened at oh-damn-o’clock to discover the power was out. Jack left his boots and coat downstairs, took the flashlight and a box of matches and headed back to bed.

 

Daniel didn’t make a peep as Jack shucked his wet clothes and crawled back in beside him, just sprawled over to claim Jack as his own huggy pillow. Jack found no reason to protest this action.

 

*

 

“You do know you’re stuck here, don’t you?” Jack ate a grape off the tray he carefully set on the bed.

 

“Huh?” The voice came from deep under the covers.

 

“Stuck. Here in Minnesota. Far from Chicago.” Jack rescued the tray just in time as Daniel bounded up, pulling the quilt from his head and the hair which was mussed in a way only someone genuinely in love could consider cute.

 

“What?”

 

“Snow, Daniel, it snowed last night.” Jack helpfully handed him his glasses. He blinked and then blinked some more out the windows across the bedroom.

 

“It snowed,” he said stupidly.

 

“Glad you noticed.” Jack popped a grape in Daniel’s open mouth.

 

“It snowed,” Daniel repeated.

 

“A lot,” Jack agreed. “You won’t be going back to Chicago for awhile.”

 

Daniel narrowed his eyes. “Define awhile.”

 

“Well, this is a private road. I could get out and attach a snowplow blade, which I have, to the front end of my truck and dig our way out to the main road. But when that road will get cleared? That’s anybody’s guess.”

 

“I’m gonna get fired, I’ve never been fired in my whole life,” Daniel stuttered.

 

“Oh, I doubt that. I can write your boss a note, tell him it’s all my fault and that you’ll be back in a few days. If you can get an internet signal, you can send your students their assignments by email. I assume you did bring that I-don’t-go-anywhere-without-it laptop?”

 

Daniel looked at him for the first time. Try as he might, he couldn’t contain the color that rushed to his face – and down his body. “Okay, this is…um…awkward.”

 

“Not to me,” Jack spread jelly on a piece of toast and handed it to Daniel.

 

“I didn’t come up here to stay, I just came to give you a piece of my mind.”

 

“Glad you packed for the occasion.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “I thought it might take a long time to pound some sense into your head.”

 

“It took me all of ten seconds to realize you were here because you love me.”

 

“Oh…um…well,” Daniel faltered, the wind quite taken out of his sails.

 

“If I apologize for what I said that night, for making light of what you do for a living, will you forgive me? Stay with me? Love me?”

 

Daniel blinked back tears. “I wanted to stay mad at you.”

 

Jack kissed the smear of butter at the corner of his mouth. “No one can stay mad at me for long. It’s part of my charm.”

 

“Let’s not test that theory, shall we? But, Jack, I’ve got a job, I have to go back to Chicago.”

 

“So we will. We’ll go back to Chicago, maybe build us a little cabin out at the farm and we’ll still have this house to come back to.”

 

“Got it all worked out, do you?” Daniel picked up one of the grapes and tossed it into Jack’s mouth.

 

“Did. I’ve got a ticket downstairs I have to call and get a refund on.”

 

“You were coming to Chicago?” Daniel blinked in amazement.

 

“Planned to camp out on your doorstep, serenade you until you forgave me.”

 

“I might hold you to that,” Daniel grinned as Jack whisked the tray onto the floor before climbing, fully clothed, back into bed. “Oh, you’re wet.” Daniel tried to scoot away but Jack pursued him across the bed.

 

“Someone had to shovel a path to the generator.” He used his wet sleeve to ruffle Daniel’s hair.

 

“Stop it.” Daniel ordered, laughing in spite of himself, laughter dying when Jack pinned him to the bed. “I do love you, Jack.”

 

“And I do love you.” His face turned serious. “We can do this, Daniel. If we both work at it, if we both want it.”

 

“I do, Jack, I do want it.” He reached up to seal his vow with a kiss.

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Jack promised with a kiss of his own. “Do you know the forecast is calling for more snow tonight?”

 

Daniel groaned and pulled the quilt over both their heads.


End file.
